Chapter 04

I 'm still not used to the abnormally loud AC unit that rattles all night, so I don't have the most restful sleep. My studio is horrible, but I'm nothing if not adaptable. Once I'm settled in and know this city better, I'll start looking for another place.

But the direct line to Pike is handy, and I arrive a solid ten minutes early for my second day. On my way to the Troll's Lair, I stop by the break room to make myself a cup of coffee, which speaks volumes about my tired state. I despise the taste of it.

I'm adding a fifth spoonful of sugar when a masculine voice says, "Would you like some more coffee with that sugar?" It's Oliver, looking at me with a teasing smile. Now that I have slept on it, he's rather attractive. Not in the classical way, but there's something kind about him that's reassuring and enticing.

I grimace, scrunching my nose. "Don't tell anyone, but I hate coffee," I confess.

"My lips are sealed." I can't help but smile when he mimics the gesture. "It seems we had the same idea," he adds, lifting his empty mug in front of him. His cup is in the shape of Darth Vader's helmet. The detail makes my appreciation of him even greater.

"So, now that you've slept on it, what did you think of your first day here?"

"It was… surreal. I still can't believe I got the job."

"I get that," he says with compassion as he pours himself some coffee. "When I started here, I felt the same."

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost since the beginning, seven years ago. We were eight, including Steven, Kev, and Lex."

"Kev? "

"Kevin Langley, the co-owner."

"Oh, right."

"He and Lex are childhood friends. Kev is the face of the company, the social one, and Lex is the engineer, the brain behind it all."

"Ke-Lex," I say, understanding where the company's name comes from.

"Yup." Oliver glances at the sugar that I'm still holding. "I don't know if you intend to finish it, but may I have a spoonful?"

I smile at his teasing. There is at least a pound of sugar in there. Of course, I'm not going to finish it. I pour him a dose, and before he can react, I add a second one.

"Oh no, you lunatic!" he protests with a laugh, covering his mug. "I will know who to blame when my arteries clog up."

We both chuckle at his antics before heading to the Lair. Everyone is already here, and Brian looks up to give us a suspicious look. "Why are you two arriving at the same time?" he asks.

I turn to Oliver, whose eyes are throwing daggers at our coworker. "I slept at his place. Best night of my life. Nothing will ever be the same," I pretend with a broad smile, signing for Joseph. This isn't even me trying to sound convincing, but Brian's jaw falls open.

"We met in the break room, you moron," Oliver explains, slightly blushing. Brian lets out a disappointed sigh and returns his attention to his screen.

As my computer boots, I take a sip of my coffee, inevitably grimacing at the awful taste. My eyes cross Oliver's, who witnessed my disgust, and he gives me a falsely judgmental head shake. I shrug and take another sip, not breaking eye contact. I try not to show my revulsion but fail, making him laugh softly.

The morning goes smoothly as I work on more tasks Mason and Joseph give me, and before I know it, the lunch break arrives. This time, the guys and I have lunch in the break room. It turns out they only play on Mondays and Thursdays, so we're all seated around a table among our colleagues, and I think I even prefer this to the game lunches.

I bought the most appetizing sandwich I could find in the vending machine, ham and cheese, and I envy their meals. Aside from Brian, they all have something home-cooked, and I haven't eaten anything prepared on a stove in days.

Once I'm done with my sandwich, I rest my chin in my palm, my elbow on the table. My short night becomes an oppressive reality, and I feel myself dozing off.

"Hi, boss," Brian suddenly says, shaking me out of my tired state. I straighten up, gathering that one of our bosses is standing behind me. Please, tell me I'm about to meet Kevin …

The low voice is, alas, all too familiar. True to himself, Alexander doesn't greet anyone and goes straight to business. "Mason, I'll need you to finish the script for the eye-controlled feature. Brian, I'm still waiting for your edits on the braille app. Andrea," he starts, and I hold my breath, anxious even though I haven't done anything wrong. "I can't control your life outside of this office, but when you come in, I expect you to be well-rested and efficient. We don't pay you to nap."

Outrage fills me as I turn around to face him. My ire is quickly replaced by embarrassment, though, as I'm reminded that this man is ridiculously attractive. I almost forgot the way his gray eyes seem to pierce right through mine, straight into my soul.

But I can't let that get the best of me. Not when he's being ridiculous. My voice isn't as strong as I wish when I speak. "You aren't paying me at all right now since it's my lunch break. So, if I want to spend it napping, I will," I explain in a matter-of-fact tone.

While he chews on my words, as stoic as ever, I take in the sight of him. His navy blue T-shirt is tighter than the one he wore yesterday, and the shade highlights his tan. The stubble is still there, and his hair is still a little messy. He isn't wearing his glasses, and I can totally envision him ripping his shirt open in the middle to reveal a red and yellow ‘S' plastered on his chest.

It's wicked to want him that much, and I scold myself internally. Especially since he's Lex Luthor, not Superman.

Apparently, I'm not worth debating with because he doesn't even answer; he just turns around and leaves. The guys are watching me with wide eyes when I face them again. "What?" I wonder, suddenly worried.

"Andy, do you have a death wish?" Mason asks.

"I—No. Why?"

"I don't think I have ever seen someone talk to Lex like that and get off so easily."

"Was I rude?"

"Not really… But he doesn't like people talking back since he's right ninety-nine percent of the time. And being second-guessed by your employees must be a pain in the ass," Steven explains.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize my attitude was problematic."

"It's okay, Andy," Oli reassures me. "Just be careful. You don't want to poke the bear. Alexander Coleman has a limited stock of patience, and you don't want to see what happens when he runs out of it."

Brian nods. "Last time, the walls trembled."

"What happened?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

Steven is the one who fills me in. "Someone leaked essential pieces of information before a patent was fully negotiated. The company probably lost a few million because of it. "

Well, that seems like a good reason to get mad. I'd get mad for a hundred dollars. And growing up with two Mexican women, I know how to yell at people—with the chancla and everything.

All things considered, I'd yell for twenty dollars.

Shortly after lunch, Mason, Joseph, and I find a bug we can't solve. This means our boss comes to the Lair to help us deal with it. The entire time he sets up his laptop at his desk, I keep track of him from the corner of my eye. I'm about to focus back on work when he slips on his glasses.

Alexander Coleman wears his intelligence very accurately. With one glimpse at him, it's abundantly clear that his intellect is off the charts. Maybe it's the way he holds himself, the assurance he lets off, or the sharpness of his eyes. When his glasses are added to the mix, it pushes that reality even further, bringing him closer to the evil genius he channels.

Yeah, I'm definitely growing sapiosexual.

Of course, I forget to pretend I'm working, and straight-up stare. His lush lips are tempting despite the stiff line they form, and I wonder what it would feel like to have them against mine. Surely, they wouldn't remain so rigid.

"Earth to Andy," Mason calls next to me.

I spin around to face him, mortified he caught me staring at our boss. Oh God, how long have I been out of it?

"Sorry, I got distracted," I apologize in a low voice.

"You and me both, sis," he says with a knowing smile, glancing at our very focused boss. Oh, so not only do we play for the same team, but we also have the same type.

"Anyways," he continues. "Have you had the time to work on the script I gave you?"

"Yes! I need ten more minutes to clean it up, and we're good."

G rooving to the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive", I moonwalk into my building's entrance hall. It goes as good as it can—meaning not good—until I bump into someone behind me.

Startled and embarrassed beyond words, I turn around with a squeal, only to find my landlady glaring at me, unamused.

"Mrs. Godfrey!" I say, putting my hand over my racing heart and pushing back my headphones.

She's one of the few people I don't have to look up to, yet she's somehow still intimidating. In her late sixties or early seventies, she has a large upper body and skinny legs. It's my third time seeing her, and she's always in a variation of the same outfit: an oversized T-shirt, leggings, crocs, round glasses with thick lenses, and a bandanna protecting her hair.

"I'm so sorry!" I blurt out.

"You Gen Z, with your savage music. Never minding where you walk."

I nod docilely, pretending I wasn't this enthusiastic over a song decades older than me. "Yes, so sorry. It won't happen again."

"You've been here for almost a week and still haven't signed your lease."

I'm not sure what to say to that. I arrived on Saturday, so it's been four days instead of a week. And we both know she's the problem here. I've texted her several times to let her know I was available to sign whenever she wanted. "We can handle it now if you want," I diplomatically offer.

She hesitates, assessing me from head to toe for a few moments. Eventually, she gives me a dry nod and waves for me to follow her. She leads me to a small office by the stairs and makes me sit at the desk. After she's shuffled inside a drawer, she takes out some papers and hands them to me, showing me where to sign. I don't trust her enough to do it blindly, so I go through it rapidly.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Godfrey, there seems to be a problem here," I say with a frown, pointing at the wrong number. "We agreed on eleven hundred."

"Miss Walker, Ballard is one of Seattle's trendiest neighborhoods. I have to adapt to the market."

"I'm pretty sure it didn't become this trendy between a week ago, when we agreed on the price, and now, Mrs. Godfrey."

"I decide what it's worth, Miss Walker."

"Have you seen the room you're renting? It really isn't worth nearly two grand," I try to reason.

"Your generation doesn't know any better. I can rent it for that price with a snap of my fingers."

I'm about to protest when something in her cunning expression stops me. She's trying to scam me. And I don't think it's her first time doing it. She might even account for some bargaining in that price, and I might get it lowered by a few hundred, but it would still be too high.

"Is this your schtick?" I ask, suspicious. "You lure people in with acceptable prices, give them time to settle in, and then change the deal?"

"Watch your tongue, young lady. "

I let out an incredulous laugh. Her scam won't work on me because I've been a lazy slob, so most of my boxes are untouched and ready to go. Moving out wouldn't be nearly as tedious as she expects.

"I'm not paying that much for an awful studio that violates several safety standards," I protest. "Who the hell puts an electric plug so close to the showerhead?"

Everything in me dislikes the way I'm talking to an elderly woman, but she deserves all of it and more. Mrs. Godfrey looks beyond pissed, her face reddened, and her lips squeezed into a thin line. I expect her to blow up at me, but after a moment of silent reflection, she leans forward to snatch the papers from my hands. "You paid for a week, so I want you out by Friday evening," she states.

For a second, I consider agreeing with her price. The prospect of having to find a new place in three days isn't great. Especially since I have a new job and an annoying new boss to worry about.

But I have my pride, and I won't let her get away with this. "Alright, I'll be gone," I confidently reply. I stand, straighten up, and stare down at her. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

With that, I turn around and leave the small office, back to the hall, then up to the studio. The piles of boxes have me sighing, but for once, it's from relief rather than because I need to find the courage to start unpacking. Who knew being a lazy fucker could have its advantages?

At least I have an excellent excuse to break my promise to Kate and not unpack…